Knights of the Old Republic: Forged in Fire
by LegacyOfThePheonix
Summary: Darth Revan is dead, Malak is poorly attempting to take over the galaxy and on the fringe of space, a Mandalorian wakes with a taste of heartache and revenge. Eventually going to be Revan/Carth.
1. Disclaimer and Things You Should Know

**Disclaimer:** I am not a part of LucasArts Corp, much as I wish I was. Nor do I have anything to do with Star Wars, though not for lack of trying. The _Mando'a_ language was developed, quite brilliantly, by Ms. Karen Traviss, a novelist of the highest degree, and a Mando-lover at heart.

* * *

**Things You Should Know:**

Alright, some of you may know me, some may not. Some of you are more likely to be familiar with the story I'm working on with my co-author, under the penname FoundersChosen. For those of you who don't know me:

I'm Kagumi Pheonix, a Star Wars fanatic and fiction-lover in general. I am also a _Mando'a_ speaker, and a Mandalorian at heart.

This story, a kotOR (Knights of the Old Republic: Video Game) spin-off is being written as I play the game. I've played it before, many a time, but have always wanted to do a series of stories based off of them, and what I think really happened. The story is going to be much different from canonical kotOR, in that I have a Female Character. I'm not really sure what's going to happen with this story, and I'm hoping that you readers will tell me what you want to happen. I'll do my best to satisfy all comers, but please bear in mind that A, I am a bit strapped for time between my dance schooling, my job, my newborn niece (for whom I am a live-in nanny, quite literally) and all of the different stories I am working on (I count up to thirteen at the current moment, and that's without the three I've already dropped for the moment), B, I have limited internet time, and C, I am above all, a writer, meaning that I do have certain plans for my story. I will do my best to incorporate what you guys want, but I have final say.

* * *

**More Things You Should Know:**

I am taking artistic liberty with this story. In some places it will be very similar to kotOR. But in others, it will veer completely off the map. I am writing a Female Character, currently named Ais'liin Vhel, a Mandalorian-born 'soldier' for the Republic. You'll just have to read the rest of the story as it comes at you. This story arc is set over a three book series.

Enjoy, _ner vode_,

K.M.V. Pheonix


	2. Prologue: An Ordinary Day

Prologue: Another Ordinary Day

It was a morning like any other. That was what would continue to strike at her for the rest of her life. It had started out simply, to get up and get to the 'freshers, get herself ready for another day of grueling soldiering for the Republic. Dressed smartly in her uniform, with its brass buttons lined up perfectly down her wiry, well-muscled body, with her blaster on her hip and her few badges pinned in place, she'd lined up for the daily nose-count and then been assigned to starship patrol duty. Since the "mighty" Jedi had been taken onboard for the virtually nonexistent war effort, the patrols had been increased to twice daily, and she was being picked to lead groups more and more often. Outwardly she projected no emotion, but inwardly her soul was singing; starfighter patrol was her favorite duty, the only one she really enjoyed.

Of course, that was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

She'd been found at a crashed starfighter, or so her records said. With no memory previous to the crash, unable to even remember what had brought her down or if she'd even seen the craft before, she grudgingly accepted that she had no idea of who she was.

Oh, she could remember the little things, like what the Republic was and how to cook a good meal; how to handle a blaster with stare-inducing accuracy and how to make love. But things like who her parents were, who she looked like, what planet she'd been born on, even her birth name. These things were lost to her, and she feared it forever to be so.

The Republic's slicers had apparently found her records a few months later; they claimed she was a fighter pilot and a soldier for the Galactic Republic, serving for three and a half years now and making her way up through the ranks with distinction. She'd been on a classified mission of some sort (she suspected it would remain classified; she could hardly tell anyone what it was about anyway.) and had been shot down by an unknown enemy. Her name was Ais'liin Vhel, a Mandalorian-born warrior, who'd somehow wound up serving the Republic after an infamous career as a smuggler of spice and blasters and hiring out her warmongering skills to anyone with the credits.

But if that was the case, if she was indeed a Republic soldier, then why in all the worlds did she feel disgust for the Republic and the way it was run? Maybe it was the depressed disillusion of someone who'd seen too much, but she had the distinct feeling like this wasn't where she supposed to be. Serving on some kriffing warship out in the Outer Rim territories, only getting to fly patrol when the roster shifted or someone was ill, slowly getting angrier and angrier with the entire situation.

Sighing, she popped her canopy and took a deep breath of the sterilized air of the hangar bays. Chemicals, coolant, fuel and cleaners filled her senses. She remembered how to repair things, was fairly good at technological things, and thusly her fighter was kept in better repair than those who simply relied on the droids. Reluctantly, wondering exactly what the penalty would be if she just flew right back out of the shields and disappeared, she climbed out of her cockpit and wandered down to the mess hall.

The food, if food it could be properly called, was slightly more than revolting, but the vegetables were hard to mess up. What was supposed to be nerf broth looked more like Hutt-sick and the slowly wriggling mass of pale green-blue tubers, which a nearby soldier with dark hair seemed to have no difficulty in downing, was disgusting looking. One eyebrow raised in her permanent expression of disdain, and no one moved to bother her; talented fighter pilot she may be, but no one messed with a Mando.

In fact, it was probably because of the not-too-recent-but-not-too-long-ago war with the Mandalorians; she briefly wondered which side she was on. Probably better not to ask, she told herself, and sat down in the hastily vacated spot across from the tuber-gulping soldier. He glanced up, and she got a glimpse of deep whiskey-colored eyes crinkling, before he looked down again with an understandable red stain spreading slowly across his cheeks.

According to most of the male soldiers, of which males outnumbered the females by five to one, Ais'liin was considered to be beautiful. Ruthless and unforgiving, but beautiful. Her hair, a dark black-brown with red highlights, was tightly braided and coiled at the base of her neck; when it was free, which was rare, it flowed in soft waves nearly to her waist and many men were convinced that it was one of a very few 'soft' things about her. Her eyes were an odd color, a grey-green that was more icy than grassy, and it was said that even her commanding officers were disturbed by looking her square in the eyes. Short and a little compact, with more muscle mass than normal for most human females, she was still lithe and sinuous, and was widely known for her right hook punch; in the off-duty cantina, an ensign had once accused her of cheating at pazaak and had quickly learned that Ais'liin was happy to live up to her birth-people's standards of violence. After that, she'd stuck to running the simulators in the Rec room and the ensign had apparently lost his interest in pazaak.

A little intrigued by the man who somehow dared to keep glancing at her, she kept the corner of her eye on him as she bolted down her scran and left the mess hall; he was familiar looking, and that just added on to the growing pile of "Things About the Republic that are NOT as They Should Be." She knew she'd not seen him before, but she felt as if she _should_ have seen him, as if she _should_ know him. Irritated with herself, she shrugged the strange feeling off and headed aft. With a quick glance at her chrono, she realized that she had enough free time left for a flight simulation or two, and took quick advantage of the rec room being nearly empty; the Jedi were keeping everyone on their toes.

After beating her previous sim record by four minutes and fifteen more kills (she currently held the top-ranked score on the entire ship) before she was shot down by an unseen enemy, she left the simulator and finished her duties. Just another ordinary day.

Until the dream came back.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alrighty, there's the prologue. Read and Review please, as always.


	3. Chapter One: The Gift

Chapter One: A Gift

The dream always came back. And it was always the same, always in a first person view, always dark and dim red light crashing down around her face. She was staring out of a star-filled viewport, watching a battle. She could feel things, like little puffs of air moving on her skin, could feel ties to each ship. It was a heady sensation, one she'd occasionally experienced while in dogfights deep in space. Blast doors sounded behind her, the sound of shields powering down, and three sets of boots pattered across her bridge.

It was her bridge, she knew, but she couldn't tell you how she knew it. She had nothing to go from, no background and no dialogue. Just the sounds of battle. A strange snap-hiss and six lightsabers sprang to life; idly, almost bored, she turned around. Her field of view was limited by something, something dark and heavy. But she had eyeslits, and even though her vision was limited, she could still see. Three red sabers, one yellow, one purple and one green. There were two women and one man in gray and black flightsuits. Her own people; the knowledge came to her unbidden. No names, though; there were never names.

There were two other females, besides herself, one of whom carried the yellow blade and one of whom carried the purple blade. Yellow-Blade was talking, her saber gesturing emphatically. Ais'liin's own lips were speaking, forming words behind the mask she wore, but the voices were something that she'd never heard, wasn't sure that she wanted to hear. Purple-Blade assumed a fighting stance, her saber brought up to thrust straight out from her shoulder, and Green-Blade parried the Red-Blade on the left of Ais'liin. The right Red brought his own blade down in a single, hard diagonal slash towards Yellow, but she dodged it easily; the next scene showed a yellow blade thrust through one of the Red-Blade's chests as the other fell, blue-faced. Ais'liin's hand lowered; she'd not tolerate failure on any level and irritation filled her as she felt the life leave her servant's body.

There was an explosion, and then blaring klaxons sounded in the darkness of her mind. Twisting, struggling to free herself from the waves of velvety darkness.

* * *

She awoke with a start, sweat dripping down her face. Her bunkmate, Trask Ulgo stood near her, deliberately not looking at her near-naked form. The klaxons didn't fade away as sleep left her senses, but got louder with each breath. She sat up, rippig the sheets threaded around her body with fury.

"Ulgo, what's going on?" she asked angrily; the irritation hadn't faded with sleep either.

"We've been ambushed by a Sith battle fleet! The Endar Spire is under attack and we don't have much time. Everyone's scrambling for escape pods." He didn't pause in throwing his possessions in a knapsack, but looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

"Are you going to get up, or have a nice lie-in? We have to find Bastila!"

"Who?" The name rang a very dim bell in the back of Ais'liin's battle-ready mind, but it was gone before she could summon up a face to go with it.

Ulgo sighed, fumbling with the straps on his sack. "Bastila Shan, the commanding officer of the Endar Spire, who's not really an officer at all."

"Not an officer?"

"No, but she's the Field Commander for this mission. One of our primary duties is to guarantee her survival in the event of an enemy attack."

"Don't cite the roster to me, Ulgo!" she snapped at him; he glared back. They'd never gotten along.

"You swore an oath just like every one else on this Force-forsaken ship, and now it's time to make good on that oath. I know all about your reputation, _both_ of them," he sneered, "first as a smuggler of the most infamous kind and now as a perfect little soldier. Well let me tell you something, Mandalorian, you might have slunk past the higher-ups in this fleet, but I haven't been snared by your rakish charms and stand-offish attitude." His eyes followed the outline of her body beneath the thin sheet before turning away. "I guess since the Republic figured that they couldn't catch you, they might as well hire you." Ulgo's eyes all but screamed at her, and she threw the thin coverlet off, even angrier than she had been when she woke up. Something in her face must have warned him, though, and he raised his empty hand in a placating gesture.

"I'll admit that the fleet is in need of better soldiers," he shrugged, flicking his eyes out to where the dogfighting was clearly visible on the other side of the viewport. "But both of us signed on for this, Vhel, and Bastila needs all troops at her side during this."

"Since I'm such a mercenary," her tone was witheringly cold, "perhaps I should just head to the escape pods myself, oath or no oath."

"I didn't mean it like that. Besides, you won't stand a chance against the Sith by yourself." He slung the pack over his shoulder and eyed her again as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Don't be so sure, Ulgo," she warned, her icy eyes flashing angrily.

"Oh that's right, you're our local ace pilot. Well," he amended, eying her warily as she stood up in nothing but that glorious skin and her underclothes, and lovingly pulled a vibroknife from the small shelf above her head. "We've got to stick together and we can't do that if you kill me. Hurry up and grab your gear; you need to suit up so that we can get out of here."

"Whatever," she muttered, stalking gracefully across the shaking floor to grab her flightsuit and uniform, as well as her hip holster and bir'gaan. As a Mandalorian, whether or not she could remember her childhood, she only carried what she couldn't afford to lose. Into the yawning depths of her little _birgaan_ went her datapad and a stack of chips, her vibroknife and sharpening kit. Also went a spare change of clothing, a spare adjustable holster and her security slicing tools, along with twelve or so spare Tibanna gas cartridges for her blaster and several assorted grenandes. Mandos traveled light, but fought ferociously. She could see the hope beginning to burn in Trask Ulgo's eyes, and it unsettled her.

Her comlink chimed and she hit the receive button. "This is Carth Onasi. The Sith are threatening to overrun our position, and we can't hold out long against this level of firepower. All hands to the Bridge!"

Trask's eyes were wide. "That was Carth, contacting us on our personal communicators."

"Comlink, Ulgo. They're called comms for short." Satisfied that her meager possessions were ensconced in her _birgaan_, she turned around and pulled the straps on her boots tighter.

Her bunkmate ignored her. "He's one of the Republic's best pilots! He's seen more combat than the rest of the Endar Spire's crew put together." He also ignored her sputtered cough, and the remark that followed it. "If he says things are bad, you'd better believe it!"

"Never said I didn't," she muttered irrtably, fumbling with her stealth unit. The door, which had been shut since she'd awoken, gave off a deep thrumming and she heard the magnetic shield snap into place. "Oh, goody, a warm-up," Ais'liin said, finally fastening her stealth unit around her waist. Ulgo spluttered behind her, watching in near-disbelief as she ran her fingers down to a slightly off-color panel and removed it with the tip of her blade. Within was a mass of brightly colored wires, and she slid her hand into the sparking mass without any hesitation. As he watched, her deft fingers isolated two separate wire-joints, pulled them apart and fastened one of each pair to the mate in the other coupling.

As the doors parted with a sigh, she yawned and hitched her satchel higher on her shoulder, and she beckoning impatiently for Trask to follow. Around the corner, there was a patrol of three Sith in bright armor. With a pang, she recalled a suit of armor different than the ones she saw there, and assumed that the dark blue and greys were her father's. It was obvious from the build of the body in her mind, the wearer was a male, and that she felt some sort of affection for him. But when she blinked the phantom drifted out of her mind and all that was left were three bored Sith and herself. She felt, rather than heard, Ulgo come up behind her.

"These must be the advance boarding party. What do we do?"

She threw him an incredulous look over her shoulder, and drew her blaster and a single grenade, setting the timer for ten seconds. "We kill them, of course." With that, she crouched and rolled the concussion charge down the hallway; miraculously, it didn't stop too early, or make enough sound that they heard it as it rolled squarely between the feet of the second man. Mentally counting, she charged her blaster as quietly as she could, shutting her eyes and pressing herself against the wall.

"Nine...Ten." With a startled yell, the charge went off and threw all three men to the floor. With a breath, she slid down the wall and cleanly put a plasma round through each of the three's heads, pleased that their fancy, shiny helmets didn't stop the soldiers from dying well enough.

"Ulgo, you coming?" she hissed; he stared at her as she hitched the bag higher and set off down the hall. Through two more sets of blast doors, one of which she had to slice as she had their own barracks door, there were more sounds of battle. Ais'liin sighed; this was where she was most comfortable, with a blaster in her hand, and her knife on her hip, stalking prey through any terrain. Hunting was second only to piloting a starfighter.

"How did you do that?" he demanded, catching up with her outside another blast door, beyond which they could hear screeching metal and the sound of a droid shrieking and exploding as something hit it.

"It's what I do. What the Republic hired me for," she retorted, hitting the code to open the door. "_Osi'kyr_!" she cursed.

"It's a dark Jedi!" Trask said, holstering his own blaster, as they watched the dueling pair; blue and red lightsabers clashed again and again as the Twi'lek Jedi dueled with the Sith. "This fight is too much for us. We'd be better staying back; we'd only get in her way."

"The name is Sith," Ais'liin murmured, not sure why she was arguing the point. The pair parried, locked in a struggled as their blades practically wound around each other. Finally, though, the Jedi raised her hand and _pushed_ the Sith away, delivering a decapitating blow; Trask shuddered as the body twitched and the head rolled slowly towards them. As Ais'liin started forward, there was a great explosion and the Jedi screamed as she caught on fire.

"Damn,we could've used her help!" Trask muttered.

"You've practically got a one-woman army with you; do you think we _need_ help?" Ais'liin said sharply, checking her blaster's Tibanna gas chamber. Together, with her in front and him slightly behind, the two made their shaken, halting, explosion-ridden way to the bridge blast doors. As they slid open, Trask cursed sharply.

"She's not on the Bridge!"

Ais'liin was already sighting up on the Sith by the navigational console, and as she slotted two of them, she grunted as a blaster bolt grazed her leg. "Must've retreated to the escape pods," she got out, as she dropped another Sith and pulled a sword from the dead Admiral's belt; he wouldn't need it anymore.

"We should head that way too, then," Ulgo muttered, shooting one of the remaining Sith. Ais'liin fought with the last remaining Sith, shoving the metal through the gap between his breastplate and belly plate, and the sword pierced his flightsuit with piteous ease; as he choked on his own blood, she left the sword there and put a single plasma bolt through his skull to ease his death. "The Sith want her alive, but once she's off the ship, then there's nothing stopping them from blasting the Spire into galactic dust."

"Turbolift to the starboard section should be three halls down," Trask said, standing by the opposite bulkhead from the bridge. Slowly, she reeled her thoughts back in from coldly killing the Sith soldiers, and followed him. Neck and neck they raced down the halls, noting the bodies in Republic uniforms and trying not to count them, wondering if they'd be next. Finally, the bright blue sign for the turbolift came into view, and they both sighed in relief.

"There's the lift, Vhel. We're safe," Ulgo said, holstering his blaster. At that moment, right as he snapped the nerfhide fixture shut, one of the doors opened with a quiet malevolence and there was a double snap-hiss. Dreading, the two soldiers turned around to face a dark-cloaked man with a double-bladed lightsaber.

"It's another Dark Jedi."

"I noticed that, thanks." Trask turned to her, his boyish features completely serious for once. One hand on her shoulder, he shook her slightly. "I'll try to hold him off. You have to get to the escape pods." Something dark flashed in his eyes, a knowledge he wasn't sharing, and she nodded grimly. If he wanted to die easily, that was his choice, and she'd not let the voice calling her a coward in the back of her head get any louder.

Trask strode towards the Dark Jedi, and she dashed into the lift, hitting the button for starboard repeatedly. As the chime sounded, and the lift began to move, she gasped, barely able to keep from sobbing. Even though the two of them had never gotten along, even though neither of them liked each other, that was all forgotten when they were faced with a common enemy. And as much as she hated the Republic, she had no love for the Sith either. Because she'd just been given a gift by a man she'd never even liked, a gift that she could never repay:

Trask Ulgo had bought her life with his own.


	4. Chapter Two: Trouble

**Chapter Two:** Trouble

An insistent chime dragged Ais'liin away from her grief, and she pulled herself together. A quick prayer to the manda and she hit the recieve button.

"This is Carth Onasi on your personal communicator. I'm tracking your position, as well as that of our enemies, through the Endar Spire's life support systems. Bastila's escape pod is away; you're the last surviving crew member of the Endar Spire. I can't wait for you much longer, though, so you have to get to the Pod Bay. But be careful - - There's a Sith patrol just down the corridor from me. Use the stealth field generator that was part of your kit to sneak past him." Rolling her eyes, Ais'liin flipped the comm off and unlocked the turbolift doors.

"Gee, I couldn't figure out how to get past a _mir'osik_ Sith on my own, Onasi," she muttered, drawing her blaster and proceeding down the hall with her back to the metal wall. Peeking around the corner, she drew back hastily. Four Sith, one of which had a belt of grenades.

"Just great..." she snarled under her breath. Opening the flap of her birgaan silently, she rifled through the assorted grenades and finally found the one she was looking for. Crouching down, she set the timer and rolled the grenade just as she had in the hallway leading to the barracks, but this time the grenade did make a lot of noise.

"Come out with your hands up!"

"Rodder," she sighed and hung her blaster from her thumb, in the universal position of surrender. A plan came to mind, assuming things went right, and she stepped from around the corner with her hands raised.

"_Su'cuyi_." she said, her Concord Dawn accent at its strongest in years. "_Ni dar'anar_." [Hello. I am without defense.]

"Mandalorian scum," the one in lead said, with the grenade in his hand. He was tossing it up and down, a stupid thing to do with a grenade in any case, so he must have been content that he'd deactivated it. Good thing he didn't know about her little triggers then... "What are you doing here?"

"_Ni tsad droten ru'verborir_." [The Republic hired me.]

"The Republic hired you? Must be getting desperate," the lead seemed not to notice the little blue light blinking underneath the switch. She only had to keep him talking a little longer.

"_Tion'meh ganar luubid waadas Ni verborir_?" [What if you had enough credits to hire me?]

"And why exactly would I want to hire you? Mercenary." But he sounded considering.

"_Ni copaani aikiyc'la buy'ce gal...MEH gar waadas_." [I really want a pint of ale. IF you have the cash.]

He laughed. "You're inventive, I'll give you that." _Oh, you have no idea, di'kut..._ "I'd like a pint of ale right about now too. But I still haven't seen a reason to hire you, unless you want creds for sheer guts." He tossed it up one more time, and she watched it fall into his palm.

Now she switched to Basic. "No. But this might do well instead." The leader threw the grenade again and she hit the ground, bringing her blaster to optimum firing arc in her prone position, and watched as the little blue grenade detonated with a bang and flash of bright light; two of the four, including the leader, were thrown to the ground to thrash about in the blue mass slowly writihing on the deck plating. The other two were pulling in desperation at their legs, trying to free them from the adhesive resin. Ais'liin took down the struggling two, and the one on the ground.

"But I deactivated it!" the leader protested, even as she brought her blaster to bear.

She shrugged, aim never wavering. "Basic trigger; if it's deactivated, the dead-man's switch kicks in exactly two minutes later. Nothing personal." There was a faint whirring sound as he tried to power up his blaster rifle but couldn't get his arm up to fire. "Should've hired me when you had the chance." One plasma bolt ended his struggles for good.

* * *

Carth Onasi watched the little blue dot moving through the schematics of the Enadr Spire. He could hear snatches of what was going on through the comlink when he sliced into it, but all he really heard was a foreign language. Lots of little red dots were converging on her position, and he opened his link.

"Be careful, there's a whole squad of troopers on the other side of that door. You'll need to find a way to thin out their numbers."

* * *

Ais'liin groaned, muttering a choicy curse in Mando'a, before extracting one of her hands from the rusty innards of the combat droid she was reactivating. Her hand groped along her belt and grabbed her comlink, opening the channel to Onasi. "I know that, thanks, Onasi. Working on it now, if you'd quit _distracting_ me!" There was a distinct huff, and the link clicked off. If she knew what he looked like, she could probably imagine him sulking on the other end.

But then again, trapped behind a bulkhead door with a Sith patrol meters away, he had a right to sulk.

Finally, there was a spark from the chassis, and she could see the servos begin the self-lubrication process. Satisfied, she extracted her hands and stepped around to watch the photoreceptors light up orange. She inclined her head at the droid's questioning sound.

"Listen up, my little _beskar'vod_, there's a whole squad of Sith on the other side of that door. I don't know how they're equipped, I don't know how many of them there are, and I don't know whether you'll come back in one piece. But you're a combat model. You up for it?" she asked, one hand on her hip with her middle finger resting on the flip-switch for her stealth unit. "I gave your shields maximum power, and even changed the Tibanna cartridge on your rifle."

There was a stream of Binary from the droid, and Ais'liin had long stopped questioning how she could understand it. "Yes, you might die. In a sense."

More Binary.

"What do you mean, what is death?" She sighed, rummaging in her birgaan for the spare cache of discs she kept. "Death is nothing to you, if you are really worried about it. Here," she thrust the datastick into the port near the droid's still-open chassis, waiting for the little light to switch from green to red. "Download everything you have in your memory banks and I promise, if I live, I will find you another shell. Build one, if I have to. I'm pretty handy with a hydrospanner."

At the droid's matter-of-fact reply, Ais'liin snorted. "Yeah, well, we Mandalorians aren't known for generosity. I'm offering you a position because you seem useful." The droid inclined its head and ejected the datastick, which Ais'liin put into the inner pocket of her birgaan before flipping the button on her stealth unit.

Impassively, but with an approving eye, she watched as the droid meticulously and cleanly picked off each Sith as she skirted the carnage and stripped the bodies of identifying cards, jewelry, anything of value in any sense; she was nothing if not thorough. Finally, with a sigh and a brow-clearing swipe of her hand, she stood and made her way over to the battered door, blaster out and set on 'kill.'

With a tired flick, the door opened, and she stared, keeping the blaster aimed directly at him.

"You!"

"Tuber boy?"

"Tuber boy?" he asked incredulously. "My name is Carth Onasi."

"Yeah, you're still tuber boy," the flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he glanced at the still-aimed-and-powered blaster didn't miss her keen gaze.

"I take it you're Ais'liin Vhel, then?" he asked after a moment of silence.

She still gave no answer.

"You made it just in time, you know," Carth tried again. "There's only one active pod left." Keeping her blaster aimed steadily, she glanced down the row of inactive lights and the one blinking green light seemed to corroborate his story,

"We can hide out on the planet below," he said, forcing himself to hit the button to open the doors.

"How do I know that I can trust you?" Her blaster powered up with a twitch of finger pressure, warning him not to move without permission or invitation again. Slowly he stepped forward, hands held high in surrender.

"I'm a soldier with the Republic, just like you."

"You're nothing like me, _aruetii_," she hissed, shoving him back with the barrel of the gun. He vaguely recognized the word from his days in the Mandalorian Wars; something like traitor, or outsider or something about their non-existent code of honor they supposedly had.

"Come on now, miss. We're the last two surviving crew members of the Spire's crew. Bastila's pod is already away. There's not really a reason for us to stick around and get shot by the Sith, is there?" he advanced slowly, so that she could track his every move.

"No moving, tuber boy, I gotta think this through." A powerful tremor rocked the ship, throwing him into her with astounding speed. Seeing an opportunity, Carth grabbed his own blaster from his belt and knocked the woman in the head with it, right on the temple. She went down with a crash and he groaned, grabbing her blaster and bag, throwing them into the escape pod. Shouldering her weight easily, he ducked into the escape pod himself and settled her into the seat, strapping her with crash webbing with a not-quite-as-impersonal touch as he would've liked.

As the pod took off, he shook his head.

Something told him that this woman was going to be trouble.


End file.
